


Ichor

by Merit



Category: The Divine Cities Series - Robert Jackson Bennett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: She is half a step behind Turyin.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/gifts).



Her dreams were filled with blood, a sharp, coppery tang at the back of her throat, scarlet sliding down a brightly polished blade, staining her hands. And _her_ presence, the tip of a blade at the back of Turyin's neck, choking the air out of Turyin's lungs.

The Continental poets sang of gleaming and vicious Voortya, the warrior mother who protected them, who demanded all. Her people sang of cruel and bloodthirsty Voortya, who would kill a child at the merely breath of sedition. The Continentals loved her and her people had killed her.

The sea surged ahead of her, a great gray wave, but the water lapped gently at Turyin's ankles. The wet sand shifted under her feet as she turned, the sharp blade leaving her neck, a trickle of blood itching down her spine. Her joints moved slower these days, her arm aching when cold breezes blew through the Parliament, Turyin almost imaging a phantom hand curling into a fist, abject rage. She suspected that it was almost a good thing she had lost it; if her tells were that easy.

The face that stared back at her was strange and foreign.

The woman – the goddess – raised her sword, hand clasping hand, the hand of a long dead saint's son. There was a rattle of bones as she moved, the screams of thousands who had perished under her blade. And Turyin watched, unafraid, even as the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, a straighter salute than Turyin had ever attempted.

The sun hit the blade, blinding Turyin, and she turned. The wave was closer, the spray hitting her shoulders, the water around her ankles sucked awat from the shore by the approaching disaster.

The blade came down, Turyin raising both arms, whole and unharmed and it took her breath away. The wave hit and Turyin was rushed away, water over her head, as Voortya stood unmoving in the sand, gaze burning hotter than any ember.

When Turyin awakened, the bed is soft under her old joints, gray light seeping through the shutters. Her hand hung off her side table, fingers outstretched, and it had been weeks since she had last taken a hold of a weapon, a sword or a gun.

Turyin resolved to change that today. She didn't want her dreams occupied by a long dead goddess. It ruined an otherwise perfectly good night's sleep.


End file.
